


Colors

by justheretoreadhannibalfics



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Colors, Flavors - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Metaphors, One Shot, Types of love, theories of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justheretoreadhannibalfics/pseuds/justheretoreadhannibalfics
Summary: Will experiences love in different colors. He has understood that for a long time, even though almost no one else understands him when he tries to explain it. Until he meets a psychiatrist who gets a color earlier than anyone else.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 97
Collections: Hannibal One Shots





	Colors

There were different kinds of love. Different  _ colors _ . That was the best way Will Graham had come to articulate the idea. 

Not that many people asked him. The last person that had asked him was his college girlfriend, and she hadn’t quite understood what he meant by it all.

He had tried his best to keep his words simple, knowing there were some concepts that were hard to wrap one’s head around. Like paradoxes. The logic in a typical mind tends to reject the idea that something so simple can be both possible and impossible. Will knew his concept of love was like that, at least for most people.

Will, himself, had never struggled to understand the concept of a paradox. He knew it was not something  _ most _ ten year olds could fully comprehend. The idea of time travel and the complications it could present, but all the pieces had just fallen into place. With most things of that nature, after Will thought about it for long enough, he almost felt a physical click in his brain when it came together. After the click, he would always be able to understand the concept.

The idea of the colors had clicked when he first thought of it. Since that day, he hadn’t felt any need to think of another way to consider love, because he had the answer. 

When Alana Bloom asked him, out of simple curiosity, Will had hesitated answering. Alana was pretty, smart, and kind. She was far too curious for her own good, and the question was borne of that curiosity. She had tried not to pry into his mind too much, but this was one thing that had slipped through, and Will knew his answer would not make any sense to her. She would still be curious after.

“Colors,” Will stated slowly, “love is just different colors. With every person I love, it’s a different kind of love. A different frequency. A different color.”

Predictably, Alana’s brow furrowed and she frowned in confusion.

Yellow.

“Colors?” she asked, not expecting an answer from Will, but hoping to get one from herself, “do you  _ see _ colors when you talk to people?”

Will shook his head.

“I don’t have synesthesia, Alana,” he replied kindly, having heard that one before, and having considered it, “It’s not literally a visual connection. It’s more like a filter over memories. I think back to a time I was with someone I love, and the memory is a certain color.”

Alana was still not fully understanding what he meant, but she hid her confusion by taking a long sip of her coffee and glancing over to the counter and the display of pastries. Will knew she wanted one, but for some reason she was denying herself the pleasure. She had a sweet tooth.

Yellow.

“I know you don’t quite understand,” Will admitted, “maybe try asking more specific questions, and it’ll start to make sense when I answer.”

It had worked before. His therapist when he was in high school had asked for specific examples of the colors, and after a good fifteen minutes, understanding had finally dawned on her. 

Alana pressed her lips together and she considered that for a moment. 

Yellow.

“I don’t know anyone you love,” she said, “so I wouldn’t know what to ask.”

Will smiled, feeling a deep sense of self-loathing that he knew wasn’t exactly earned.

“Well,” he said hesitantly, not sure if he wanted to say what he really should, “I love you.”

Alana blushed immediately. She blinked in surprise, meeting his eyes and then glancing away several times. Will could almost  _ hear _ her pulse elevating.

“Uh, what color?” she asked shyly.

This was where Will  _ really _ hated himself. She wouldn’t understand what it meant yet, but he wouldn’t lie about the truth if she asked.

“Yellow,” he answered honestly, “like daffodils and canaries. It’s warm and bright.”

Alana continued to blink, as if her eyelids were camera shutters and she was trying to capture a rapid succession of images in order to create a flipbook of the moment later.

“What does that mean?” she asked, still not understanding what was going on just yet.

Yellow.

Will huffed softly, feeling a pang of regret. She was really so kind and good.

“I really enjoy being around you, even when I’m in a bad mood,” he began, not meeting her gaze, “I smile when I think about you, and I have even considered _ kissing _ you sometimes. You feel like a warm ray of sun whenever you are around. The only downside is that I don’t think it’s really a romantic kind of love. Not very strong, at least, if it is.”

That was what Will hated about it. Just from the color he saw people in, he knew if he could ever have a relationship with them. He could have one with Alana, but it would never go very far, and he knew she deserved better than that. He wouldn’t do her the disservice of pretending.

Alana didn’t seem to know what to say, so Will decided to move on and save her the attempt.

“I also love Beverly,” he offered, “but it’s blue. She’s a good friend, and that’s all she needs to be. Nothing will, or should, ever develop between us. The colors all mean different things, and I guess they don’t always make sense. Especially to an outside perspective. It’s just the way things are organized in my head, I guess.”

Alana nodded, her blush going down as she seemed to gather her thoughts. She was very good at keeping herself together, and Will always admired that in her. 

“Do you know all the colors?” she asked.

Will shrugged.

“I know what they all mean, but there are still a few I haven’t experienced yet,” he confessed, his mind wandering.

“What color is romantic love?” she asked. 

Will knew she would ask that. It was expected that someone would ask when it was a conversation about love. Romantic love was what most people thought of when they first heard the word, after all. 

“Purple,” he replied, “I know that one well enough. I’ve had a few relationships, and they were all purple. One was orange, but I wasn’t her type.”

Alana tipped her head.

Yellow.

“What’s orange?” she asked.

Will smiled wryly.

“Closer to something that could last. Something that doesn’t need excitement to keep up, like an established relationship. It’s mature, and serious. Comfortable.”

That was the best he could do by way of explanation. He remembered the girl, how she had been exactly what most people would want. She was kind, smart, affectionate, and understood the needs of others in a way that helped her treat them well as well as communicate effectively with whoever she needed to. 

Alana’s brows shot up, predictably. Will knew what to expect.

“Why didn’t it work out?” she asked.

Will shrugged. 

He knew he wouldn’t give her the truth. At least not all of it. He hadn’t  _ wanted _ that. He didn’t want a  _ comfortable _ love. It had been warm and pleasant, but he ached for something hot and intense. 

He wanted  _ red _ .

“I’m not sociable enough,” he replied flatly, taking a sip of his own tepid coffee, “and she deserved better than me anyway. We just eventually realized we weren’t right for each other.”

That was as close to the truth as Will could get. His own desires frightened him. He had never experienced red love, but he knew it was incredibly dangerous. The intensity of the feeling, and the meaning of what it would be should  _ not _ have been something he wanted. 

But it was the  _ only _ thing he wanted.

Alana nodded in understanding.

Yellow.

“So, I guess this isn’t a date, then,” she surmised, sounding only a bit disappointed.

Will smiled apologetically.

“I almost wish it was,” he said, “but you’re yellow. I wouldn’t be good for you, and you aren’t what I need. I really respect you, and I really care about you. I just can’t lie to you and say that it would work between us. You deserve better than that.”

Alana smiled, and she actually did seem pleased.

Yellow.

“I really appreciate that, Will,” she said, “not many people would be that considerate. Thank you.”

Will nodded and tossed back the last of his now room temperature coffee. He stood, Alana standing as well, and they made their way out.

“Will, I want to tell you something,” Alana said once they were out on the sidewalk making their way to their cars.

Will glanced over her, seeing it wasn’t anything too serious, and nodded.

“Jack is going to ask a friend of mine to come in and do an evaluation of you. You  _ need  _ to make a good impression. Jack’s concerned about you.”

Will huffed a laugh.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he assured her, “I’m known for my brilliant charm.”

Alana laughed, and it was her nice, light, pretty laugh. It made Will smile, pleased with his own joke.

Yellow.

“We all know you’re brilliant,” she said, teasing him, “but your _ charm _ is subjective.”

Will put a hand over his heart to feign injury.

“After I bared my soul to you, Doctor Bloom?” he gasped, “I suppose that’s fair. Who’s this friend? Should I be scared?”

Alana shook her head, smiling at the very thought of whoever this friend was. It seemed Alana was really very fond of them, in whatever color that was.

“His name is Hannibal Lecter. He was sort of my mentor at John Hopkins. He’s very good, and he’s very proper. He doesn’t like rudeness, so maybe try to reign in your tongue a bit?” she offered, her eyes sparkling with joy.

Yellow.

Will smiled in return, unable to refrain when in the face of Alana’s obvious happiness. That was one of the things about yellow love. It meant the other person’s emotions were contagious. Even if Will hadn’t had his empathy disorder, he would have smiled when Alana did. 

“I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’ll do what I can,” he promised, “If this guy pokes around too much, whatever happens will be his own fault, though. I’m not a big fan of psychiatrists.”

Alana pulled Will into a hug so fast he didn’t see it coming. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

Yellow. 

Will blinked in surprise, awkwardly trying to return the gesture. He was not good at hugs, neither did he like them very much. He could feel the comfort Alana drew from the contact, and was glad to let her have that. It was no great loss to himself, and he always wanted her to be happy.

“I know you don’t like psychiatrists,” Alana said, close to his ear, “and I’m just so glad you still like me.  
Will nodded, her hair tickling his chin and face. In all honesty, he hadn’t liked her the first time they met, but he hadn’t had the instant reaction to _dislike_ her either. She was personable and kind, and not overly psychiatrist-like.

“You’re my _ favorite _ psychiatrist,” he replied, grinning at her as she pulled away and straightened her hair.

Alana laughed, and they bid each other goodbye to get into their respective cars. 

Yellow.

Will was headed to Quantico. Alana was headed to Georgetown. They didn’t see each other often, but she was still Will’s only really close friend. Beverly was nice, but she was too casual to be as close a friend as Alana. She didn’t talk about feelings unless it was just a quick check in, and she preferred to joke around more than be overly serious. 

\---

“Will, I’d like you to come to my office,” Jack said, walking up to Will’s desk after one of his lectures, “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Hannibal Lecter, Will thought. Who else would Jack want to introduce him to, if not the man being asked to discern Will’s particular brand of insanity?

“Alright, Jack,” Will said, moving a few papers around, more for show than anything else, “no dead bodies you want to use as an excuse to put me in the same room as this person? Or is that going to come later?”

Jack smiled, but Will could see he was annoyed by the words. That tended to happen when will pointed things out that Jack had planned to keep secret. Jack didn’t like that Will could dig up his secrets without meaning to or trying.

“No dead bodies. I just wanted to introduce you to him while he’s here. I think you’ll be seeing him around, and I want you to be familiar with him,” Jack said by way of explanation. 

Will nodded, turning and following Jack out into the hall. Will slipped his glasses on and ran a hand through his hair so it fell in front of his face a bit. It was his own sort of shield that he applied to avoid unwanted eye contact. He could look at his glasses, or through his hair. He didn’t like eye contact with strangers.

Beverly walked past them in the hall, smiling at Will in silent greeting as they walked their separate paths.

Blue.

At the door, Jack looked Will over as if determining his preparedness for what was about to happen. He didn’t know that Will was aware of who he would be meeting in the next moment. 

With a curt nod, Jack opened the door and they both entered.

The man in the chair didn’t look up at either of them as they entered. He was facing away, and waited for Jack to enter his field of vision before looking at him. Jack waved for Will to take the chair directly beside the man, and Will did so in silence.

As Will sat down, the man turned to look at him for the first time. Will watched him from the corner of his eye, not showing any interest or knowledge of him. It would be easier to reign in his tongue if he didn’t try to chat the man up from the beginning. He didn’t really want to make Alana’s friend angry.

“Will, this is Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Doctor Lecter, this is Will Graham,” Jack said by way of introduction, waving at each of them in turn.

Will did turn, then, and looked at the man. He didn’t make eye contact, choosing to study his torso and face instead. He was dressed like some high-end fashion icon, in a plaid three piece suit that should not have looked as good as it did. He looked European, and proud. 

Will nodded in greeting, decidedly not saying anything. It was easier to not be rude if he didn’t speak.

“Hello, Will,” Lecter said. His voice curled around the words like a flame around a scrap of paper, his accent peculiar but only adding to his appearance of someone of nobility.

Red.

Will’s breathing hitched, and he blinked. He didn’t meet the man’s eyes, still, but he stared at his tie. Will furrowed his brow.

Of all the people in the world he had met,  _ this _ guy was the red one? Will hadn’t even gotten to know him yet, and he was already red? Most people didn’t get their color at least until the second conversation. What about this man was different?

Will snapped back to himself and turned away, facing Jack again.

“Well, I’ve met him. Is that all you wanted from me, Jack?” Will asked, anxious to leave and figure out what the hell was going on.

Jack frowned.

“At least say something. Talk a bit. I’ll give you a case to work on if I have to, but I want you and Doctor Lecter to get to know one another,” he said firmly.

Will didn’t know why he was being this way. If Lecter was just supposed to do an eval, Jack should be giving him an appointment time and warning him to pass so he could keep working. This was the least official evaluation he had ever seen, and it was at an incredibly inconvenient time.

Will huffed and turned back to Lecter. All intentions of making a good impression escaped him like passengers of the Titanic when he met the man’s eyes.

Red.

The man’s _ eyes _ were even maroon. Will had never met anyone whose color matched their eyes, but he supposed the universe enjoyed playing tricks on him.

“Hello, Doctor Lecter,” Will said, knowing he sounded gruff, “I’m Will Graham. I have the ability to think like anyone. Most people are convinced I’m crazy. The rest just think I’m creepy. I don’t like psychiatrists, and I am not likely to be fond of you either. I think that’s enough.”

Will stood from his seat and headed to the door, pausing when Jack called after him.

“You have an appointment with Doctor Lecter on Monday,” he stated, “He’s going to do an eval for my peace of mind. Seven thirty. Don’t miss it.”

Will huffed and headed back out of the office. He made his way back to his classroom, fuming all the way. 

Why was he reacting this way? He had waited his entire life to meet someone red, and had dreamed about the day he would. Perhaps he had been too comfortable in the idea that he might never actually meet someone. It was safer to dream when it was  _ only _ a dream.

Will had time to think it over. He had one last lecture of the day, then a weekend of rest where he could mull over whatever was going on. 

Other people don’t see love the same way Will does. There was no reason to suspect Hannibal Lecter would have any idea what was going on. 

But… If Hannibal Lecter didn’t yet love Will, how could he have a color?

It wasn’t normal for anyone to have a color until Will actually got to know them. They would develop their own opinion of him, and he would know them, and then they would have their color. He had never met anyone and gotten a color right away. There was something different about this one.

During Will’s last lecture of the day, he allowed the blue and green to wash over him. He loved his students with a cool, friendly love. The way they paid attention and respected him strengthened his love of himself, and the two feelings often mingled and combined when he was teaching. It was a mixture of calming colors, and it was why he enjoyed his job so much. At least when Jack left him alone.

The students filed out of the classroom, leaving Will with his faint green glow as he organized papers, put grades into the computer, and filed away the things that had happened that day. He would pull them all back out and go over them again when he was home. 

Everything was quiet in the classroom, and Will enjoyed his time there until it was time to leave and head home.

The drive home was long, and by the time Will walked in his front door through the small tidal wave of fur, the green had almost faded. 

Buster jumped up at his knees, Ellie ran around his legs in a tight circle, and Harley woofed lowly at him for attention.

Pink.

Will grinned at them all, making sure to pet them each until his arms were tired and his clothes were covered in fur. He laughed as they tussled and rolled together. 

Pink.

Will allowed himself to roll around on the grass with them, feeling the stress from the day fading away in the light pink glow of their unconditionally selfless love. 

Dogs were the only creatures Will had encountered that truly loved unconditionally. There were some children that were overly loving towards new acquaintances, but it wasn’t quite the same as what dogs offered. Dogs could sense what a person’s soul was like, as far as Will could tell. They would instantly know who was worthy of trust or not. The way to get around that was unfortunately simple, being that one must only give them food in order to earn their approval, but it just made them more endearing to Will. 

Dogs were innocent and loving. They were just better than most people were.

\---

“Tell me, Will, why is Agent Crawford so insistent on having you evaluated?”

Red.

Will huffed, walking around the office to try burning off some of his anxious energy.

“He thinks I’m unstable, or that I might be. He wants you to tell him that I’m fine so he can throw a few more dead bodies at me without worrying,” he said, trying to keep his hands in his pockets so he didn’t end up touching everything.

Doctor Hannibal Lecter had a really nice office, and there were so many things Will just wanted to touch. He didn’t feel like he could, though. It felt like it would be intrusive and rude. He could tell Lecter was the kind of person who hated rudeness.

Which was just great for Will, the one person who ended up being rude even when he was trying to be polite.

“Does he have reason to worry about you?” Hannibal asked casually.

Red.

Will ran a hand over his face, trying to distract himself from the oddness of everything at the moment. He just needed to get through the evaluation so he could figure out what was going on with Hannibal’s color.

“Depends on who you ask,” Will answered, folding his arms to keep his hands still, “If you ask Doctor Bloom, she’ll tell you it would be best if everyone left me alone. Ask Beverly Katz, and she’ll tell you I’m fine or I would say something. Ask that sorry excuse for a psychiatrist, Doctor Chilton, and he’d tell you I’m unstable and should be held for observation by someone like him.”

Hannibal tipped his head curiously, watching Will as he nervously paced. 

“There is a fair amount of disparity among those opinions,” he noted, “but I would like to know what you think of the situation.”

Red.

Will stopped and furrowed his brow. Hannibal wasn’t falling for the easy deflections Will used on most people. He must have been more clever than that. Will should have known, since the man was reportedly a mentor for Alana. She was  _ almost _ too clever for it, so anyone more clever than her would be.

“I know who I am, and I haven’t murdered anyone,” Will replied, “I’m not a psychopath or a serial killer. I have some problems, for sure, but so does everyone else. My problems are just different from most.”

Hannibal nodded. He wasn’t actively taking notes, which helped Will relax a bit. He was just watching Will as he walked around the office.

“What problems do you have, if I may ask,” Hannibal said.

Red.

Will nodded, giving up and sitting in the chair that was obviously meant for him. It was more comfortable than it looked. 

“I have an empathy disorder,” he stated, “it makes me a damn good profiler, but also makes it hard for me to be sociable. I’m closer to Asperger's and Autism than psychopaths and serial killers. I don’t think I need to be worried about. At least not by Jack.”

Hannibal nodded as if he understood. His long fingers were laced together and set on top of one knee. His legs were crossed, and he was wearing a grey and red plaid suit. It looked absurdly good on him, despite how ridiculous it should have been. Even the man’s taste in clothes was red. Will didn’t understand how  _ he _ was possible.

“What are your views on love?” Hannibal asked, his gaze fixed on Will intently. 

Red.

“Alana told you to ask about that, didn’t she,” Will said flatly. He hadn’t expected that, since she really  _ did _ want people to leave him alone, but maybe it was just something she thought was interesting enough that Hannibal would like to hear it.

Hannibal didn’t deny it, but he didn’t offer to confirm it either. Will supposed he was being a good friend by not ratting Alana out right off the bat.

“Fine. I’m not gonna get upset with her for it,” Will said, resigning to it, “I just know enough about her, and enough about you now, that I can tell when something didn’t originate in your head. I only told her the other day how I see love. I guess she thinks it’s pretty interesting.”

There was a sparkle in Hannibal’s maroon eyes, showing he was intrigued. He studied Will carefully as Will spoke, soaking in his words like they were water to a dry sponge.

“I had not anticipated wanting to hear your answer as much as I do,” Hannibal said, “though now I am convinced you are far more interesting than I would have first thought upon hearing about you.”

Red.

Will scoffed. He had gotten a lot of the reverse from psychiatrists in the past. Meeting him tended to be anticlimactic for them. They wanted to meet some bright gem of psychological fruitcake, but what they got was a man who wouldn’t meet their eyes and insulted them without them having to speak first. 

“Well, I don’t suppose she gave you a preview into what I’m gonna say on the subject,” Will said, earning a nod of agreement from Hannibal, “but I want to make something clear first. If I tell you how I see it, then I want you to tell me how you see it. Quid pro quo, or whatever you will.”

Will saw a new spark of interest in Hannibal’s eyes.

“Very well,” he agreed, “I will answer whatever questions you ask of me, so long as you do the same, and we will both try to be as honest as we can with one another.”

Red.

Will nodded sharply and leaned back in the chair.

“Alright. Love is like colors,” Will stated, not bothering to look at the man across from him, “Each kind of love is a different color.”

Hannibal blinked at him, slowly. His lips were slowly pulling into the faintest of smiles, and Will couldn’t be sure what he was thinking.

“I would venture to guess that you feel some form of love for Doctor Bloom, and that is how the subject came up with her,” Hannibal said, prodding.

Red.

Will nodded.

“She’s yellow,” he replied, “and before you ask, it’s not synesthesia. I don’t see the colors when people talk, or touch me, or whatever. I feel them. It’s like a filter over my memories and life. Each person I love just gets a color.”

Hannibal nodded.

“I would not have insulted you by assuming you had synesthesia without being aware of it,” he said, “You are far too intelligent for such things. I would like to ask, though, what the colors mean to you. If they are each a different type of love, then how do they correlate?”

Red.

Will huffed. At least Hannibal was trying to  _ sound _ like he respected Will as a person. That was something the others hadn’t done when he spoke to psychiatrists. Will couldn’t tell if he was being genuine, but it was nice to see him put in some effort.

“Yellow is closest to Ludus, as far as I can tell,” Will replied, testing the waters to see how well Hannibal was acquainted with the subject, “but it’s also sometimes like Storge.”

Hannibal nodded in understanding.

“If you use the model of eight types of love, then there is certainly bound to be some overlap between them,” he said, “particularly with those two, I would imagine. Philia would also be a companion to them, providing some overlap, perhaps.”

Red.

Will took a deep breath. He had never met someone who just understood him right away when he talked about the different kinds of love this way. There was usually a period of time he would have to spend explaining each of them before he could even broach the subject of the colors. It almost gave Will whiplash to be understood so immediately.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, “then there’s Beverly. She’s blue. Philia and Storge. Both of those apply to her, I think. Overlap there, for sure. She’s a good friend, but never anything romantic. I love my students too, and they’re all blue. I love my dogs, and they’re pink. Agape.”

Hannibal was content just to listen, and Will had the feeling he actually understood what he was saying. There was not a flicker of confusion over his features as Will spoke, and he didn’t interrupt or look like he wanted to ask another question. It was bizarre.

“In high school and college, I had a few relationships. Mostly purple. Eros. There was one who was orange. Pragma. Philautia is Green. That’s the closest I can come to explaining what the colors mean.”

Hannibal nodded, leaning back in his seat and seeming to consider what he had heard.

“You have described only seven types of love,” he noted, “I am curious what color Mania would take.”

Red.

Will smiled wryly. 

“I’ve never experienced it before,” Will said, “but I know it’s red. I’ve known since I decided the colors worked. Red is the only color it can be.”

Hannibal nodded.

“I tend to agree with that,” he said, “as for myself, the types of love are something like flavors. There are different flavors of love, if you will. I confess I have not spent as much time considering it as you seem to have. Love is not one of my main concerns, or at least it hasn’t been. The types of love for friends are sweet, for family they are salty, et cetera. I have found it is the way I organize my thoughts, though others have a difficulty understanding when I attempt to explain it to them.”

Red.

Will laughed.

“Right? I have the same problem. It’s like trying to explain a paradox to a ten year old. They just can’t wrap their heads around it,” Will said, feeling relieved to have someone who actually seemed to understand.

Hannibal smiled, and it was the first real smile Will had seen from the man.

“I have never had much difficulty with the concept of paradoxes, myself,” Hannibal confessed, though he sounded pleased and almost proud of the fact.

Red.

Will smiled back.

“Neither have I,” he said, “Sometimes things just click for me, even when they don’t for other people. Sounds like we’re more alike than I expected us to be.”

Will could see Hannibal was pleased with that. There was a slight softening at the corners of his eyes and the line of his mouth, which Will knew meant he was pleased even though it was less than a smile.

“How rare it is to find someone similar to oneself in the ways you thought so peculiar,” Hannibal replied, “and yet, we are unique in ways even more peculiar to each other than to the world.”

Red.

Will nodded, still trying to figure out what he was going to do about the man. 

“I’ve always wondered if there is a sort of magnetism between people of similar natures,” Will mused, “I have seen enough examples to consider there is some merit to the idea. I hadn’t thought it would ever apply to me.”

Hannibal’s lips twitched, and Will wondered why he wasn’t emoting as much as most people did. He didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like everyone else. Will had to actually try to see into him, and it was actually somewhat fascinating.

“My perception of love is related to my chemical sense, while yours is a physical sense,” Hannibal noted, tipping his head curiously, “I wonder what the correlation between those is.”

Red.

Will hummed softly, letting his eyes go unfocused as he considered it.

“I’d say something else of import has happened to each of us concerning the related sense,” he considered aloud, “whether it be a traumatic event or merely a significant one.”

Hannibal became peculiarly quiet at that. After a moment of silence that hung oddly in the air, Will focused his vision again and looked at the man. Hannibal’s own gaze seemed distant, and his expression more open than any Will had seen from him yet. His features looked almost empty, as if his soul had left his body and they were no longer receiving instructions from the brain.

“Doctor Lecter?” Will asked cautiously.

Hannibal blinked and looked back to Will.

“My apologies,” he said, “I hadn’t anticipated your words to remind me so acutely of my past. Very few people are capable of catching me off guard that way.”

Red.

Will believed it. There was something in Hannibal’s tone that was somber and serious. Something that hadn’t quite been put back into the shadows when he had come back to himself just then.

Will grinned sharply, feeling daring for a moment.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he said, not even sure what to expect from the other man.

Hannibal blinked in surprise, then studied Will for a moment before he smiled softly.

“I accept,” he said.

Red.

Will chuckled.

“Well, my empathy thing is connected with my vision. A lot of the recreations I do are mainly a visual process, where I watch the crime being committed through my own eyes. I’d even go so far as saying I’ve experienced a lot of trauma through it. It’s almost all visual to me. I see the evidence, and I see the crime, so I see the criminal.”

Hannibal nodded, and there was something unidentifiable in his expression as he considered what Will had said. 

“With the knowledge that I may sound terribly morbid, my own experience is something horrifying. You may be the only one who can understand the nature of what I have lived through,” he said, watching Will for a reaction. 

Red.

Will only allowed himself to look interested and open. He didn’t want to scare the man away now. Not now that he had said so much. He wanted to hear Hannibal’s side.

“As a very young child, there were a series of terrible occurrences that led to my eating something I will forever regret,” Hannibal said, clearly postponing the actual moment where he told Will what had happened, “it was cold, and I was alone. There was no food. Only myself and my sister.”

Red.

Will felt himself pale at the realization of what Hannibal was going to say.

“You didn’t,” Will felt himself say, though no sound escaped him. Only his lips moved.

Hannibal evidently caught the movement, because he refused to meet Will’s eyes after that.

“The men that came,” he continued, “they were starving too. My sister was ill. She was on death’s door already. I would not have done it on my own. The actions of the men are what forced such an act upon me. They would have me be fresh if it came to that after, and I was starved, not knowing the difference between soup and what they poured down my throat.”

Red.

Will regretted asking about this. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to know.

Images flashed before his eyes. Deep snow, spattered red from warm blood that began to melt it at the same time as it was freezing as well. A tiny footprint. A bubbling pot over a fire. Small bones and teeth swirling through the broth.

Will closed his eyes and pressed his hands to the sides of his head, wishing the pictures would go away. He didn’t want to see anymore.

Will didn’t know how much time passed, but when he opened his eyes, Hannibal was kneeling at his feet and staring up at him with concern. His red eyes shone with adoration and worry.

Red.

Will was still seeing so much. There was blood, and flesh, and death. Hannibal growing up with this experience, healing around it the way a tree grew through a fence. Functioning, but still wrong in a way. His violence and taste, and fascination with the human mind, and his skill with a blade. His familiarity with the human anatomy. It was all cascading together to create a picture that Will had never wanted to see.

And it was painted all in red.

Will grabbed the lapels of Hannibal’s pretentious grey and red suit, pulling the man into a kiss that surprised them both. Hannibal didn’t pull away. He didn’t react in any way Will could really discern, at least for a moment.

After a breath where Will was the instigator of something that was wholly inappropriate, Hannibal pushed back. 

The entire world was bathed in red. Hannibal’s hands were red. Will’s hands were red. Hannibal’s office was red. Hannibal’s past was red. Everything was red.

“What do I taste like, Doctor?” Will asked, gasping as they pulled apart.

Hannibal gripped Will’s thighs with his large hands, also breathing hard, and his eyelashes fluttering as emotions played over his face.

“Meat.”

_ Umami _ , Will mused silently, pulling Hannibal into another kiss,  _ that’s what mania is for him _ .


End file.
